


you and me, and her and he

by toxica939



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Affair Era Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxica939/pseuds/toxica939
Summary: My take on the first night of Home Farm week





	you and me, and her and he

The beer’s sweating cold and wet in Aaron’s hand, slippery under his thumb. It leaves a dark stain on Robert’s shoulder when he steps in close, nose brushing against Aaron’s; hint of a smile blurring, eyes fluttering shut. Robert’s bottom lip is wet, bitter, and he flinches when Aaron presses in closer, mouth opening.

Aaron winces like he’s the one with a knuckle print on his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles, shoulders sagging to drop his body weight away from Robert’s chest. His free hand is hovering in mid-air without his permission, half way to soothing bruises he made. He pulls it back quickly, hides his scuffed knuckles against his side.

Robert shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says. He takes Aaron’s beer back, sets the two bottles on the counter and draws Aaron back in with gentle fingers at the corners of his jaw. “None of that matters, alright? It’s just you and me.”

It the same tease he makes in bed, when he’s trying to loosen Aaron up again. When days and weeks of nothing but lingering glances and the ghost of Robert’s body heat wind him back up tight. Aaron wishes sometimes, that he could keep himself shut away, that Robert couldn’t prise him open quite so easily every time. But then Robert will give him that look again, thumbs sweeping soft arcs over Aaron’s cheeks, eyes lit up like there’s no one else he’d would rather be looking at, and Aaron’s lost again. At sea and drifting, drowning.

It’d be a lie to say that he lets Robert kiss him, because he feels the strain in his over-worked legs when he leans back up into Robert’s body, fingers curling at his shoulders. They kiss for long minutes, right out in the open where any one could see. The same place Robert’s wife drinks her morning coffee, probably.

He’s not a good enough person to not get a sick thrill out of that.

He’s here, where she should be. Aaron. Aaron’s who Robert wants. He stayed for this. For him.

:::

They don’t order pizza, that first night. Robert cooks some pasta dish Aaron doesn’t bother to remember the name of. He moves around the kitchen with ease, sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a glass of red wine on the counter where Aaron’s sitting. He comes over every now and then for a sip, presses kisses to Aaron’s mouth on his way by. He refuses Aaron’s offer of help, which is just as well, because Aaron’s past distracted, into gawping.

Robert’s fingers are deft on an over-sized knife, face flushed and grinning. He keeps pausing, blowing his hair up and out of his eyes only for it to flutter back down; until Aaron leans over without thinking, brushes it back for him.

It’s a shocky moment of intimacy in the middle of something so banal. Aaron’s fingers stutter in Robert’s hair, eyes meeting. Robert offers him a grateful smile, lets him off the hook.

They eat on the sofa, something quiet on the TV, heavy white bowls cradled against their chests.

“Is it good?” Robert asks.

Aaron nods, wipes his chin clean with the back of his hand and feels the ease in his own shoulders, considers the way he hasn’t wanted to be anywhere else since Robert kissed his brain quiet against the fridge. Thinks,  _this is what it could be like_.

He says, “Really good,” and lets Robert think he means the food.

:::

Probably, there are other bedrooms they could use. Aaron doesn’t care. They spent long enough pressed together on the sofa, working each other’s jeans loose, chaffing Robert’s chin red and hot with Aaron’s beard, that he’s aching, room spinning. When Robert suggests they move the party upstairs, he follows along blindly, gets kissed halfway up the stairs, snakes his fingers under the hem of Robert’s shirt up against the landing wall. He couldn’t give a fuck which bed they fall into.

There’s still a smug little worm of satisfaction in his belly when Robert carries him the last couple of steps, tips him sprawling into plush sheets that smell like Robert’s shirts and nothing else at all. He can see a jewellery box on the far nightstand, knows exactly where he is. It doesn’t stop his legs spreading, doesn’t stop him moaning when Robert slips down the bed to lick across the head of his cock, doesn’t stop him doing it again, louder, when Robert pins his hips and takes him apart.

It doesn’t stop him doing any of it. It never has.

:::

Robert looks younger when he’s sleeping. Peaceful. Innocent in a way that’s laughable.

Aaron wakes early to look his fill anyway, like he always does when he gets the chance.

It’s almost a shame when Robert’s eyes flutter open. Until his face creases into that sleepy, morning smile, greedy fingers pulling Aaron in for kiss before they’ve even said hello.

They’ve nowhere to be today but with each other.

  


 


End file.
